Chapter 7 - The Shadows of Gary
Spring arrived in full force, washing the grey slush from the city and leaving the air crisp and smelling of fresh rain.
At the Alfieri shipping docks in Gary, Indiana, the massive gantry cranes were moving again. The containers that had sat frozen during the Ashcroft crisis were rolling onto flatbed railcars, heading west toward the Pacific corridors.
Nico stood on the elevated catwalk of the main distribution hub, his heavy wool coat open against the lake wind. In his hand, he held a cane—a simple, polished piece of black walnut with a silver grip. He rarely used it for weight now; it was an accessory, a reminder of the road he had traveled from the cold marble floor of his foyer.
Beside him stood Marcus Rossi.
“The union approved the new healthcare trust this morning, Nico,” Marcus said, looking down at the hundreds of men working below. “Julian’s skim has been fully reimbursed from his liquidated private accounts. The docks are clean.”
“And the Ashcroft holdings?” Nico asked, watching a container bearing the Alfieri trident crest swing onto a vessel.
“The Senator took a plea this morning,” Marcus replied, a grim smile touching his weathered face. “Ten years at Terre Haute. Camille was sentenced to eighteen years at the federal facility in Pekin. She tried to claim medical incompetence during the sentencing, but the judge threw it out. Her lawyer resigned an hour ago.”
Nico nodded once. The vengeance was complete, but it brought no thrill. The violence of that world felt distant now, like an old language he no longer cared to speak.
“Marcus,” Nico said.
“Yeah, boss?”
“I’m stepping down as operational chairman next month.”
Marcus froze, taking his cigar from his mouth, staring at Nico in absolute disbelief. “What are you talking about? You just took the whole syndicate back. The street belongs to you, Nico.”
“The street is a graveyard, Marcus,” Nico said quietly, looking out over the blue waters of the lake. “My father spent forty years building an empire so he could spend his last ten looking over his shoulder for poison in his soup. I spent eight months trapped in a chair because the people I trusted were measuring my coffin.”
He turned to Marcus, his eyes clear, calm, and resolute.
“We’re transitioning the entire logistics network into an employee-owned maritime cooperative. You take the chairmanship of the board. The security contracts are terminated. The off-book accounts are being closed and transferred into the pediatric healthcare fund we established last month.”
Marcus stared at him for a long, stunned moment. Then, slowly, a deep, respectful chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Your father would have called you soft,” Marcus murmured.
“My father died at fifty-two of a coronary in an underground parking garage,” Nico retorted smoothly. “I intend to live until I’m eighty. In a house that doesn't smell like gun oil.”
Marcus looked at the cane in Nico’s hand, then up at his face. He extended a heavy, calloused hand.
“It’s been an honor, Nico.”
May you like
Nico shook the older man’s hand with a firm, final grip. “Keep the ships moving, Marcus. But do it in the daylight.”
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